On a confused rainy night,
That fuzzy face.
It's flowers chasing dreams that are about to be broken,
On the long and colorful hills;
Still trying to figure out whether to connect it or not.
Is it the priest who shed sad tears?
Or, tears of regret after breaking up at midnight?
Tears can still be seen.
Weeping window grilles, in this rainy night.
The dream is a rest with the sunset in the forest, and the gentle glow is floating lightly.
Dreams are the precipitation of the sunset, brewing in another round of sunset.
The dream is the lingering feeling of "cutting constantly, reasoning is still chaotic" and the beauty of a messy Chinese knot.
Dream is the only smile with the taste of snow lotus on the snowy mountain.
Dream is the mystery of the eighteen bends in the ninth district of the Yellow River, and China's calligraphy dances from left to right.
The dream is the jasper of the Yangtze River, the impenetrable fusion and the swimming of fish and shrimp.
Dream three thousand, touch the sky with your hands and step on the earth.
The dream is to travel long distances and chase the sun on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau on a yak.
Dreams are the dependence of wintersweet and peach trees, a plum blossom and a peach blossom.
Dreams are dark days, stolen sun and shy sunshine.
Dream is the jungle of Xishuangbanna, weaving your memories because of its beauty.
Dream is the red baptism in front of Potala Palace in Lhasa, and the calm water floats all the way to the evil of life.
A dream is a mirror with four walls. Without touching the truth, it is doomed to go out.
The dream is a day when the ocean is rough and the wind is sunny, where seagulls look in the blue mirror.
Dreams are slowly coming waves, holding hands and singing. The beautiful white rose garden and the ravaged petals were ground into sand and returned to the beach.
Dreams are the search of kingfishers. The spread wings smoothed the water surface, a beautiful image suddenly broke, and a fish flew up and landed in its mouth.
Dreams are swaying reeds, and the sleeping darkness hides the secrets of mountains and water.
Dreams are moonlight and stars under peony flowers. Your hand and mine are holding hands, whispering, or keeping silent.
In my dream, I was drunk in the lotus pond under my skirt and danced one song after another.
Dream is the spring tide of Qiantang River, and the moon and we stand at the tide and shout.
Dream is an ancient myth of the Three Gorges, and the rolling water is hitting one beautiful mountain after another.
Dreams are far away. Kuafu, running after the sun, tears have dried up.
The dream is the thick dust on the terracotta warriors and horses of Qin Shihuang. When the wind blows, the fields are thousands of miles away.
The dream is the pagoda forest in my hometown in May, and the fragrance of flying snow is refreshing.
Dream is a whip in the hands of a shepherd boy, leading the rolling sun on the hill.
Dreams are deep pools, and rainbows raise three thousands of feet white beards stretching from the precipice.
My dream is to drift in a boat with fallen leaves and catch a whale named "Infinite" in my eyes.
Dream is a ferry of Lijiang River. The pole in the water and the pole in the hand seem to be broken.
In my dream, I met the helplessness of "an apricot outside the wall" and stopped to pick up the fragrance of a hospital.
Dream is to take off your eyes and chase between distant fangs, ignoring yourself.
Dreams are sunflowers spitting out the sun's face, dazzling.
Dreams are the aura, ripples, circles and your broken smile of stupa relics.
Dream is a reef facing the sea in spring, and the sea breeze is lingering.
The dream is touching the winding of the Great Wall in Wan Li, all the way from Yalu River to Jiayuguan, north of northwest, camel bells trudging across the horizon.
The dream is Loulan, half covered with sand. Next to the mysterious carved beam, there is an earthenware pot.
Dream is the sun made of Populus euphratica wood in the Populus euphratica forest and buried underground, with red and yellow sunshine.
Dreams are the murmur of ancient wordless stone tablets, nursery rhymes and the natural voice of history.
Dreams are rainbows of pear blossoms after rain, wrapped in sunshine, and the sunshine is dancing.
The dream is the tears of "autumn wind curling, waves falling under the tree", flying down and sparrows jumping.
Dreams are the zebra crossing swaying under your feet. Looking down, the speed is at a loss.
The dream is that the wind outside the window touches the eyes, and it really hurts in a trance.
Dream is a drop of milk on a stalactite, a stalagmite waiting to be sucked, and a jade sigh that has shocked for centuries.
Dream is the tender lips of the flame, the tender feelings that are about to drip, the hand you picked up, the faint lipstick and a pinch of ashes.
Dreams are the shadows that rivers yearn for day and night, and a stone river is drifting away with a smile.
Dreams are hypnotized by muffled thunder, lightning is far away, and a sword is inserted.
Dreams are fireworks that bloom all over the world, dazzling, and a flash in the pan in Ye Xiang.
Dream is the hide-and-seek of the stream in the palm print of the mountain, and the mountain laughs without saying a word.
Dream is an emotional network, and small fish swim in a world.
The dream is a hill climbed by snails, which is so beautiful that it is moving.
Dreams are towers hanging in the sky, just like caged birds flying without wings.
Dream is a gorgeous rose in the yellow grass, and I believe in this disharmonious style.
The dream is an empty suburb, a lonely telephone booth, and the ringing bell has no answer.
Dream on a busy road, there are many footprints passing by, leaving no one behind.
The dream is the great ship of Titanic, and the paper boat is slowly wandering in the dark corner of the sea.
The dream is the snow of Mount Fuji, colorful cherry blossoms, one mountain and one mountain.
Dreams are fragments of the Loess Plateau, not the desire to fill the valley, which should be an abyss.
Dream is a colorful merry-go-round, flying without wings, and the sky lies on the earth.
A dream is an ancient windmill blowing the fragrance of golden tulips, and then intoxicating the sea.
Dreams are curtains with wings open, windows tied, and constantly hitting iron grids.
In the dream, the rising sun lit tobacco leaves for the village in the morning, and the bellows were beating.
Dream is a hand stretched out from the green mountains and green waters, groping all the way to the golden beach.
Dream is a long tobacco rod wrapped around grandpa's waist, full of tobacco bags hovering in the wind.
The dream is grandpa Guliu's hunchback, a bow, a flying river, and a tangle of thoughts in my heart.
In the dream, Mount Tai is the only mountain with five mountains, and the fog cuts the waist.
The dream is the arrow of Hou Yi, and the golden bird is not a myth.
Dreams are always gobbledygook. When you meet them, you will be surprised and speechless.
Dreams are sporadic hairpins in the lush hair of the French phoenix tree, which are blown by the autumn wind and drunk all over the sky.
In the dream, the Himalayan sky winds, and many colorful shells are stuck between rocks.
A dream is the first ray of sunshine in the morning, which opens the curtains and surrounds your eyes and windows.
My dream is a bowl of delicious noodles on a flowerpot in Huang Cancan, and yours is a pole on my shoulder.
Dream is a bundle of cotton candy picked in the blue sky, chewed in the mouth, and the sweetness evaporated.
In the dream, the pottery pieces on the ground can't spell out a pottery jar, so you will be paralyzed if you are not tired.
Dreams are lies in the Christmas chimney, and beautiful sika deer pull beautiful sleds.
Dreams are 999 roses given to her on Valentine's Day, and her body withers at dawn.
Dream is a hand-woven scarf. You put it on for me and send me away from your eyes.
A dream is to drink a bottle of wine that has been hidden for ten years and spit it out with blood.
Dreams are colorful mushrooms, dotted with stars in Yuan Ye. A basket of stars is beautiful.
The dream is the eagle crow on the top of the mountain, and the autumn will not return to Yan.
Dreams are crystal balls in the hands of witches, and those spells have been going on for a long time …
Dreams are the teasing of Ganoderma lucidum and the climbing of desire, which is endless.
Dreams are the dependence of pine trees and dodder, with broken arms and the north wind drifting.
Dream is a charming moon, hanging on the swaying cassia twig, eyes sliding down and coming back.
Dreams are the stars and the moon on the sheets at night, and your daydream lies on the back of fireflies.
The dream is to stand on the red Eiffel Tower and listen to the music of Big Ben.
A dream is a clear knock on the door in the silent night, which wakes a bird perched in a tree and makes it unable to sleep.
Dream is a mirage in the vast desert, is it an oasis of mirage?
Dreams are petals falling on the screen. I see my tears, and I often come back in a boat with petals.
Dream is a long bamboo raft, with green waves at the bow and the earth behind it. The sun is in front of us.
The dream is that the sea breeze blows conch-shaped waves. Listening to the sound, I was gradually sucked in.
The dream is to be a branch in autumn, to piece together the fragmented sky and fall to the ground.
The dream is to follow the footprints of trees all over the ground and enjoy the tears of trees. Such people walk on this road.
Dreams are sparkling water, the beating of deer and the sparkling sunshine on windy Yuan Ye.
Dreams are lightning vines hanging in the crimson sky, and the center of the earth sneaks up, smelling of blood and people everywhere.
Dreams are crushed garlands, swimming fish float to the other side of the Pacific Ocean, and the petals are surging.
Dreams are bamboo buildings on the water, which can't be washed away by running water.
Dreams are the bells of coconut by the sea, the colliding wind and the listening leaves.
Dreams are the bright bluestone streets of the ancient city, with wet footprints and no traces of time.
The beginning and end of a dream are in your own hands.